


Pressure Points

by repeatogirl



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: F/M, Guilt, Sexual Tension, Sparring
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 01:36:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4687472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/repeatogirl/pseuds/repeatogirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Or, the five times Nathaniel Howe understood the Warden Commander and the one time he wished he couldn't.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pressure Points

They're sparring in one of the rooms underneath the Keep, a space still dank and dusty, with more spiderwebs than anything else. Nathaniel's fairly certain she allows him down here is simply because he's the only one who won't hold the disrepair against her.

He can't. It's his family's mess after all.

She's insisted they work on his close-combat skills; if she could fight comparably with a bow, he should be able to do the same with her weapons of choice. Judging by her intensity, a change of pace is something the both want. She moves quickly, dancing circles around him, both blades flying. Although he's stronger than her, she's used to fighting against that and he's struggling to gain the upper hand. He's hesitating when he shouldn't and his form needs work. She nudges him with the pommel of a dagger every time he makes a wrong move to teach him where he'll be most vulnerable.

It's helpful the first ten times, then absolutely annoying by the nineteenth.

But it's the smirk on the twentieth that undoes him. _Andraste's blood,_ he's been training under a  _chevalier_  for far longer than she's even been a Warden– he'll use her assumptions about him to his advantage.

Deliberately, he slows down and lets her knock the daggers out of his hands. It defeats the purpose of the lesson, but if fisticuffs will grant him a victory now, he'll take it. No longer worrying about slicing or stabbing himself, he dodges her attacks more easily, and he's able to close in on her. He manages to snake his hands around her wrists and he pins her to wall behind them, wedging one of his legs in between hers.

He doesn't miss the sound that escapes her, nor can he control his body's response to it.

Still, she's his commanding officer.

His commanding officer whose hips unmistakably roll against him.

He releases her wrists just as she releases her daggers. The clatter doesn't seem nearly as loud as their breathing. He rests his hands against the wall, thumbs momentarily grazing her sides, and leans in, his body strong against hers. "Commander?"

Her hesitation is felt more heard: a controlled inhalation that only pushes her closer. Her fingertips, pleasantly rough and calloused, scrape down across his jaw, then neck, before resting on his collarbone. She's looking everywhere, but never at him. It's only after she shakes her head that she finally meets his gaze.

As quick and graceful as the rogue he's supposed to be, he untangles from her. With a nod he turns to leave, forgetting her own speed and efficiency.

Her hand finds his, fingers interlacing. "Not _here_."

He guides her to another room, where a statue of the Maker's bride stands tall and proud.

He sets fire to it easily.


End file.
